Feeling Without Touching
by notaparty
Summary: If Barbara were Robin and Dick were Batboy. Batman and Robin keep coming across someone wearing the Bat symbol fighting crime in Gotham, only this guy hasn't gotten killed yet. Bruce takes the boy in, which starts a chain reaction in Gotham's dark depths.
1. Chapter 1

He appeared in the alley at the corner of Dusk Street and Brent Avenue every night between 12:30 and 12:45, right in front of the cameras Bruce and I had set up there. Apparently he didn't think that he didn't think (or care if) we could see him. Then again, if he was running around with the bat symbol on his chest in this part of Gotham, it was pretty damn clear he wasn't thinking things through. He jumped down from the fire escape and landed easily, not even stumbling once he got up from the roll he did to break his fall.

He brushed the alley dirt off of his suit, which was so crudely made that he had to have broken a couple of ribs by now. No padding, just somewhat sturdy stretch material from the looks of it. It was mostly gray, except for blue stripes down the sides and his shoulders and obviously, the yellow bat symbol in the middle of his chest. Unlike some other impostors, he didn't wear a bat hood. Instead, he had a domino mask, his black hair loose. I'd started calling him Batboy, but Bruce refused to call him anything but the imitator. Just one of many. But this time, the guy hadn't gotten beaten to a pulp in the first week out on the streets, which was probably the reason why we were watching him now instead of letting him bow out on his own terms.

The Batboy paused behind a dumpster, waiting for the two thugs who had robbed an jewelry store to come around the corner. I'd already called GCPD to handle the damage at the store, so all we had to do was wait and see how this would go.

This part still made me nervous.

Batboy got a lot of great kicks in, well placed and strong, but he didn't cover his back well. One of the thieves kicked him in the back of the knee, making him fall to the ground. My heart skittered in my chest when a different man stomped on his hand, hard enough to break it. I heard his breath hitch violently, almost like he was going to scream, but he didn't. He stayed still for a second, almost too long for comfort.

"We should help—"

"No, wait." Bruce put he hand on my shoulder. "I want to see something."

I bit my bottom lip. "We can see it on the tape. He's going to get killed."

"Robin, you're staying." The way he said it stopped me cold. He could say my real name, Barbara, the same way. "I want to see how he does."

I sat back down on the edge of the building and watched through my zoom lenses on my domino mask.

The guy rolled to the side just before one of the thugs dug a boot into his kidneys and made his way to his feet in one smooth motion. He rebounded off the side of a dumpster, then grabbed the fire escape. He swung like he was on a trapeze, kicked one thug unconscious, and dismounted with a double somersault. Before the other thug could get a stab in, he got enough punches in to knock him out.

"He has…flare?" I glanced at Bruce. "You have to admit it."

He looked at the alley again. His face was never expressive, but it was impossible to even attempt to read him when he was wearing the Bat suit.  
>"We'll sweep the next sector, then head back to the cave." He stood. His cape swept against my cheek and ruffled my hair. "I've seen enough for tonight."<p>

My post-patrol shower was always the place where I could unwind, but tonight I couldn't stop thinking about the Batboy. I had watched the security tapes for hours, scoured my archive for any information, but came up with no leads, or leads that didn't go far. He could have been one of a thousands of men in Gotham. Somewhere in his late teens or early twenties, approximately 5'11", not overly muscular, but definitely fit and acrobatic. He had a great butt too, but I couldn't put that into the database without Bruce noticing.

Whenever we tracked his movements back to wherever he came from, he disappeared into a camera's blind spot and we couldn't find him after. He might have been a Meta, a lead I was still following. Otherwise, my information trail was uncomfortably sparse.

I finished my shower and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. I put my hair up in a towel and went to see if Bruce had any leads on the Batboy. He always stayed up after a patrol. If I hadn't been living under his (and Alfred's) care since I was eight, when my father was killed on duty, I wouldn't believe he actually slept.

And sure enough, he was at the computer. Well, computers. There were twelve screens, all showing different things. Two supercomputers operating in harmony. It had taken me a good month or so to put them together, but it was worth it. We could get information in half the time we did before. Well, I could. I did most of the information collecting, hacking my way into archives and encrypted files, while he sifted through it. I would be lying if it didn't bother me. Not that I didn't love gathering info, but after all this time, I thought he would trust me more.

"Find anything?" I asked.

"That somersault he did…" Bruce pointed to the video footage from tonight's patrol. "…versus this footage from a recent commercial for the Flying Graysons Circus."

I leaned over him to get both clips to play at the same time. They were eerily similar. The guy in the commercial flipped from one trapeze to another easily, like he'd done it in his sleep the night before.

"It's a basic move, though, isn't it? Somersaulting between bars." I rewound the tapes.

"Watch his dismount." He restarted, then paused at a certain moment. "There, in the security tape. The way he almost bowed, like it was a natural part of the motion. Then in the commercial, he does the same with a full bow. Left foot out slightly."

I watched it over and over again. The more I saw the motion, the more I was convinced. But this was the only tape we had that had him doing the somersault.

"It's a tiny stretch." I paused the tape on the performer's face in a spot where it wouldn't be blurry

"It's not a stretch." He pulled up another screen. "The fabric of his suit versus the suit he wears during the act."

He had zoomed in on the fabrics from both tapes. He was right—they were both unique and were definitely almost the exact same. I bit my bottom lip. He always managed to get something I missed.

"Do you want me to do more research into the Flying Graysons Circus tomorrow?"

"Please. And get us tickets for the show tomorrow evening. The Wayne Foundation is a sponsor, so we can get good seats." He stood. "We should see him in person."

"But why?" I glanced back at the video screen, then at his face. Unreadable, as usual.

Bruce kept walking. "You'll see."


	2. Chapter 2

What did you even wear to a circus? I'd never been. My only social functions involved others in the vigilante community, like going on patrol with my best friend Dinah, or going to fancy high society parties to represent the Wayne family.

I decided on a green dress and sandals, since it was warm out for April. I'd only worn it once or twice since it was fairly new. New clothes magically appeared in my closet all the time, courtesy of Alfred. It had been years since I'd gotten brand new day clothes, considering my body took its sweet time filling out.

I finished getting ready, putting on the minimum amount of makeup necessary to be presented in public as a young heiress, and went downstairs to where a limo was waiting. Bruce was already inside, dressed much more casually than I usually saw him outside—khakis and a button down shirt. He had a laptop in his lap, going over the file I'd compiled on The Flying Graysons.

It hadn't taken me long to get information on them. The circus had taken up shop in the Gotham Entertainment Center for a fairly long run, like some of the less traditional circuses in Las Vegas. They were about two months into their year long stay. Apparently both of Dick's parents had died in a trapeze accident in a practice run right before they started their time in Gotham, according to the papers. Nothing seemed to be foul play, though I was still looking into it.

It wasn't hard to get information on Dick Grayson either. He was eighteen, like me, and had gotten his GED at age fifteen through a performer's school. No criminal past, just a long line of forwarding addresses. He did have a small fan following, though, if a fan following could be boiled down to a hundred "he's so hot!" comments on Youtube. And those were the tame ones.

"Is the file thorough enough?" I adjusted the temperature gauge once the limo started moving. Bruce always kept it freezing, like the cave.

He simply nodded.

We didn't speak to each other the whole ride over, not even when we stepped out of the limo into a flurry of paparazzi that the circus management must have called to bring attention to their show. The pictures would probably be on every society page tomorrow. Bruce turned on the charm when talking to the press, which I never got used to. Somehow he was more natural in the persona he'd built for himself rather than the one he was born into.

An usher helped us find our seats in the front row, VIP section. The stage was a gigantic circle with the seats all around, stadium style. Two incredibly high platforms were on either side of the stage, a net strung between them. Even though I regularly jumped off buildings, the space between the net and the trapeze made me a bit queasy.

Piece by piece, the stage came together as the audience filled the stadium. Brightly colored props filled the stage until the opening number was ready. Once the lights dimmed, applause peppered throughout the crowd. Bruce's hands stayed laced together in his lap.

The music started up, slow but loud, as blue lights swept across the multiple stands they had set up. Eventually the lights moved faster and faster and the performers appeared on the stage in a cloud of smoke. The ringleader was a woman dressed in a tuxedo with a top hat and whip in her hands.

"Welcome to the Flying Graysons Circus!" She said, smiling broadly. "I'm Georgette, and I'll be your guide for tonight. Let's start the fun, shall we?"

"Watch for him," Bruce murmured to me.

I didn't realize so much would be going on at once, so looking for him was harder than I'd anticipated. Clowns, tigers, contortionists, confetti, everything feet away from my face. But then the stage cleared and only acrobats came out in a cloud of smoke the way the circus had started in. Once it cleared, I could find Dick easily. My eyes were drawn right to him even though he was just clapping to pump up the crowd.

He had a spark that you couldn't create through years of practice. Even through his thick stage makeup, it was clear he was just as at home on the stage as he did doing a somersault into a thief's face. Unlike the other acrobats, he was wearing a bright blue unitard while the others were wearing silver.

Once he and the other acrobats started their performance, it was almost too hard to keep up with him, even with his magnetism and blue costume. He moved fast and gracefully, making it seem like balancing on one hand while someone else balanced on his feet was no big deal. Despite his strength, he wasn't bulky, which added to his grace, especially when he did the trapeze. His parents might have died that way, but that didn't seem to stop him from doing tricks that made the whole audience gasp.

As I watched, I soon realized there was no way a guy who took a beating like that could be doing this kind of act the very next day, even if he was a master martial artist. I watched how he twisted at the waist and did backflips, like gravity was optional. Not a trace of a wince on his face or any waver in his smile. His handstands were perfect as well. He even hopped on the hand that was stomped on.

"It's not him," I whispered to Bruce. "It couldn't be."

Bruce didn't respond, but I could definitely tell he was thinking and not focusing on the act.

Soon enough, the acrobats were replaced with trained tigers, then jugglers, and lastly some clowns. It was all very well done, more complicated and showy than a regular circus. Before I knew it, it was all over and the lights were up.

Bruce flagged down one of the ushers from earlier, who rushed to him with an anxious smile on her face.

"We'd like to meet the performers, please. Dick Grayson in particular," Bruce said, his voice smooth and nearly pleasant.

"O-of course, Mr. Wayne. I'm sure the performers would be honored." She led us toward the back, wringing her hands on her small red flashlight. "Did you enjoy the show as well, Ms. Wayne?"

"I did," I said, trying to sound as calm as possible before she started to panic entirely. For whatever reason, people wanted to impress Bruce and me whenever we went out. It was the fame, even though I did nothing to earn it besides being adopted by a billionaire. I appeared in the Gotham Gazette's society pages somewhat regularly, per the Wayne Foundation board's request, with other young heirs who were more interested in talking about their yachts than anything actually interesting.

The backstage area was behind some black curtains and down a hall, which was bustling with activity. Tigers in cages, which the usher told us would be transported to the Gotham Zoo for the night, props, racks of costumes made the already narrow hallway feel even smaller. We came across Georgette, minus her ringmaster outfit, talking to someone wearing all black and a headset. She smiled at Bruce and nodded, which Bruce returned. Eventually we made it to a series of rooms, one of which was labeled with just "Grayson."

"He should be in here." She knocked. "I'll be out here to take you to your car once you're done."

Bruce thanked her right when the door opened to reveal Dick in a loose white tank top and shorts, his black hair mussed up from its neat part but his face still covered in stage makeup.

"Yeah? Oh, uh, hi." Dick looked from Bruce to me, then didn't look away. He smiled. "I wasn't expecting guests."

"Sorry, Mr. Wayne wanted to meet you," The usher said. "Do you have time?"

"Yeah, of course." He stepped back to let us in, not that there was much space. Like the hall, his dressing room was stuffed with costumes, many of which didn't belong to him, and cardboard boxes. There was a small desk overflowing with stage makeup with a large mirror in front of it.

"Would you like my seat?" He asked me, sliding the small stool toward me. "I can stand."

"It's fine. I'm sure you need it more than I do after that performance." I pushed it back to him.

He smiled again and took the seat. "You don't mind if I take this makeup off while we talk, do you?"

"Go ahead." Bruce slipped his hands into his pockets. "That was a great performance. You're a natural."

"Thanks. I've been doing it since I was a kid, so I guess I have to be good at it by now." He took a face wipe and started cleaning off his makeup. "Thank you for agreeing to sponsor us, by the way. It's kind of nice to be in one place for more than two weeks."

"Not a problem." Bruce was doing something with his fingers in his pockets, like he was turning something around between them. Even though I knew he was probably opening a container for a hair or skin sample, it still felt like I was looking at a different person. Someone who never threw a punch in his life, and didn't have to because his money could fight for him.

I studied Dick as he took off his makeup. His arms were even more impressive in person, and noticeably without a scratch or bruise that should have been there, considering the falls Batboy took on tape. The lack of bruises on the back of his hands or scrapes on his knuckles confirmed my suspicions. The Batboy wasn't him.

But he did have nice hands. Not in the more traditional, long fingered but masculine way. They were big hands, long and a little wide, bit of hair on the backs but not too much. When he ran his hand over the table to sweep some powder away, I heard his calluses scratch against the surface. Mine did the same thing.

"Barbara?" Bruce brought me back to attention.

"Hm?"

"Dick asked if you wanted to bring a friend to the show next weekend. They're going to do a few new stunts."

"I can give you a tour backstage too, when I'm more prepared." He grinned at me, genuinely. I hated that it made my heart pound a little faster. "If you want to, of course. I'm sure you're busy."

I looked at Bruce, then back at Dick. "Sure, that would be great."

Our investigation on him would probably be over by tonight, but it would be nice to see the circus again for fun, and not for work.

"We should get going," Bruce said, checking his watch. "We just wanted to thank you for such a great night. I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"Not a problem." Dick stood to shake Bruce's hand. "You're welcome at any time."

When Bruce went in to shake Dick's hand back, he bumped his leg against the edge of the table, sending a few things tumbling to the floor. He quickly leaned down to get them from under the table before Dick could even move, apologizing as he did. A hairbrush was among the things that fell. If I hadn't been watching closely, I wouldn't have noticed Bruce slip a bit of hair into his pocket.

Dick didn't notice, though, and straightened the hairbrush next to a small unmarked tub.

"I guess I'll leave tickets for you at the will call, Ms. Wayne?" Dick turned to me, his face shining slightly from the dampness of his makeup remover.

"Sure. And you can call me Barbara. Only the board calls me Ms. Wayne." I extended my hand to shake his. He took it and gave it a shake, not letting go immediately.

"Barbara, then." He grinned. "See you next week."

Despite our slightly late night, Bruce and I still had to go on patrol. I took a short nap, then suited up. Before we left, I checked my computers to see if Dinah or Helena needed me, but neither did. Dinah was staying the night at her sort-of boyfriend Oliver Queen's apartment, while Helena was staying in, only alone. My crime scanners were fairly calm, aside from a break-in at a botanical garden and jewelry store that GCPD had already taken care of. I could double-check that later.

"Ready to go?" I asked Bruce, who was at the supercomputers. The vial of hair was sitting next to his left hand. "Are you analyzing that? The hair?"

"I will once we get a sample from the imitator we've been following." He stood and reached for his mask. "Let's go."

I didn't question his logic since he always had a reason for anything. We went right to the spot where we saw the Batboy last night and set up shop. We sat and waited, so silent that the sound of the Batboy hopping on top of a dumpster filled the sound of the alley and scared a bunch of stray cats out of hiding.

Not seeing anyone, the Batboy took a seat and crossed his legs under himself. Bruce signaled for me to follow him. We made our way down the fire escape silently and landed right in front of him. He jumped to his feet in one smooth movement and attempted to leap off of the dumpster, but Bruce already had him by the ankle. He yanked him to the ground and pinned him to the dumpster's plastic side with a batarang so the Batboy was half-standing, half-kneeling. Somehow Bruce managed to grab a bit of hair in the process, which he slipped into one of his pockets.

"Listen, I—"

"We've been watching you for a few weeks now," Bruce said, cutting Batboy off. "And you haven't died yet."

Batboy struggled against the batarangs. "And?"

"I'm wondering why. You must have had a broken bone, judging by our security tapes, but you've been out night after night." Bruce paused. "No apparent injuries, not even a limp."

"What do you want me to say?" He asked, his voice sounding hoarse, like he had been choked earlier. Maybe he had been somewhere else earlier.

"Why are you out here wearing the Bat symbol and how are you healing so rapidly?"

"It's…" He coughed. "It's complicated."

"I can understand."

"I just…" He paused again. "I wanted to make a difference and I figured that if you and Robin could do it, so could I. Which sounds really stupid now that I said it out loud. As for the healing, I don't know. I go to bed with broken ribs and wake up fine. It just started happening a while ago."

Bruce didn't say a word for a while, and I didn't have any idea of what he was thinking. The guy had to be a Meta whose powers suddenly activated, or a druggie, or both. I made a mental note to look through the Meta database I'd compiled. This would probably be the last we heard of him, anyway, especially since he looked like he was going to crap his pants any second.

"You have potential," Bruce said, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Batboy's brows furrowed.

"You say you want to make a difference, so I'm giving you that chance. Tentatively."

"What?" I blurted, my mind immediately starting to race. He hardly let me become Robin, even though I was legally his ward. And now he was letting this guy come into our circle after monitoring him for such a short time?

What was he getting at?

Bruce didn't even turn around. "You're untrained and will likely get killed down the line if you come across the wrong person. If you want to do good, you have to be better. Robin will train you. Be here tomorrow night, same time, and she'll go through the basics. We'll proceed from there."

I bit my tongue to keep myself from going off. Yet again, he didn't even ask me if this was okay. I reminded myself that I was his assistant, not his equal, no matter how hard I worked or how well I did. And surely he wasn't actually considering this guy to be a part of the team, so I probably didn't have to worry. Keep your enemies close. Or potential enemies. We still didn't know exactly who he was, especially since the Dick Grayson link was probably a dead end.

But still. Going to the circus to investigate whether Dick Grayson was Batboy was different than training this guy. Assuming he agreed. Even under his domino mask, he looked terrified.

"O-okay," Batboy stammered, brushing off his suit. "I'll be here."


	3. Chapter 3

"That's such bullshit. You shouldn't have to train this guy who's obviously not quite thinking straight," Dinah said from her seat, cross-legged on an empty spot on my desk.

"I know." I rubbed my eyes. I was going over the fight footage that Bruce had used to train me. There were hours upon hours of video and I knew Bruce would know if I half-assed something. Just because I didn't want to play along, or knew why he was doing what he did, didn't mean I wouldn't try.

"And you don't even know who he is?"

"Batman's going off the whole Dick Grayson angle, which doesn't add up at all." I paused on a tape where I managed to dodge a series of arrows and added it to my teaching list. "There's no way a guy could take a beating and go back to perform the way he did."

"Dick Grayson? The guy in the circus commercials?"

"Yeah, him."

"Oo." An impish grin slowly spread across her face. "I could go with that."

"You haven't even gone over the file."

"I don't need to go over a file when I can see that ass on a commercial almost every night. I rewind and watch the part where he does that backflip sometimes. It's like a master sculptor created his ass. I would train him. But by train I mean screw senseless."

"You have a boyfriend!" Well, sort of. She and Ollie's relationship had evolved so much that I could hardly keep track. First she hated him even though she thought he was hot, then she found him sweet, hated him again, then somehow ended up sleeping with him exclusively. It wasn't uncommon for two people in the vigilante community to have a relationship like that, but I still worried for her. He was known for being a player in his civilian life, where he was basically like the guys I had to go on fake-dates with—heirs who were too rich with too much free time.

"Doesn't stop me from looking. I hope it's him so you can give me updates on his hotness as you train. Send me that file when you get the chance."

I opened it up on a screen and turned it toward her. "Do you want to go to the circus next Friday, by the way? He invited me again."

"Yeah, definitely." She sucked on the end of her fork. "So he asked you out?"

"He asked me to come to the circus." I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. "Nothing weird about it. The Wayne Foundation sponsors the whole thing, so he's probably trying to stay in our good graces."

She grinned and said, "Oh, I see."

I glared at her over the top of my glasses. "Purely business."

"Mmhm." She skimmed the file.

I compiled a few of the tapes to review and intensify for Batboy tonight while Dinah went over the file. We didn't work on every last case together, but the two of us and Helena Bertinelli, who went by Huntress in the field, sometimes did. One lesser mob boss said we were like birds of prey on his operation, so we started calling ourselves the Birds of Prey. Had a better ring to it than a lot of other vigilante groups, in my opinion.

One of the cases we were working involved a string of burglaries in university labs across the east coast. So far no areas had had a sudden uptick in Meta activity and there wasn't any contraband movement in the seaports. The things that were stolen weren't particularly scandalous either—just tools, not information. I had my eye on it, but right now things were pretty calm across the board aside from the Batboy case and smaller crimes that were easy to take care of.

I went back to Dick Grayson's file. I'd added a few more things at Bruce's request, mostly about his parents' death. Both had died from falling from the trapeze without a safety net—broken necks. Witnesses said they were pretty normal before the incident, aside from the fact that they fell on such a routine trick. I went over the witness statements again—falling on a routine trick for two lifelong professionals was weird, especially if they were confident enough to not use a safety net.

One of my screens suddenly flashed with a new message from Bruce, which I opened.

_DNA was a match. The impersonator is Dick Grayson. Begin a surveillance file immediately and review the new training plan I put together._

"What?" I opened the attached file where Dick's DNA had been analyzed and went over it. "This has to be wrong."

"Hm?" Dinah looked up from her phone.

"Batboy is Dick Grayson." I leaned back in my seat. "I need to set up more cameras and trackers. Now I see what Bruce is getting at—something has to be up with Dick that's making him practically superhuman."

I opened Bruce's new plan. Instead of just training him, I had to try to get a blood sample to see if he was a Meta. Easy enough if I got a good punch to the face in. Then I could see how quickly he was healing with cameras I had to put up. And I could leave a tracker on his suit. But as for the training…I was basically just supposed to beat him up and see if he was just holding back for us. Which could be dangerous if he was just luring us in.

But why would he care about us? He was a circus performer. His parents had just died, which pushed him to be a vigilante (allegedly), which I could definitely relate to seeing that that was kind of how I'd become Robin. Why would he sabotage us? Unless he felt that we were part of the problem. I thought back to his warm smile in his dressing room, and the way it made me go a little soft. I couldn't trust that feeling anymore.

"Want to train a bit?" I asked, reaching for my contact case. Dinah pushed me in ways Bruce didn't and was a lot more fun to workout with. "I need to get loose for tonight. It might be a tough one."

He was in the alley before me, wandering back and forth aimlessly. I startled him and he jumped, which gave me a tiny twinge of satisfaction.

"I didn't think you were going to come," He said with a relieved smile. He was wearing a domino mask so I couldn't see his eyes clearly, but I could tell it was genuine. I tamped down the blush I felt coming over my cheeks.

"Well, I'm here. Come on, we aren't training here." I pointed to my bike. which was parked down the street in another alley.

He followed wordlessly, his sneakers clunking against the pavement. It was slightly comforting to hear him walking behind me because I usually couldn't hear Bruce or Dinah or Helena because of the shoes we wore.

"Wow, this is yours?" He said, when we got to my bike.

"Yep." I hopped on, leaving space for him to get on behind me. I grabbed a blindfold from my utility belt. "And put this on."

"Taking me to a surprise party?" He smirked and took the band, sliding it over his mask.

"If a surprise party involves getting punched in the face." He wrapped his arms around me, his arms brushing the bottom of my breasts. "And just because you're wearing a blindfold doesn't mean you can't feel that you're touching my boobs."

He slid his arms down. "Sorry."

I started up my bike and pulled out onto the streets. Even through the lightweight armor on my suit, I could feel his body warmth. He wasn't a huge guy, but he was big enough to envelope me comfortably. He wasn't shy about getting close.

The training facility was just a converted old warehouse that we sometimes used as a resting spot for long patrols, hence the secrecy surrounding the location. Dinah had helped me move some punching bags and other training tools there just after we set up security cameras to watch Dick earlier in the evening. For a place that had a lot of expensive gear, the circus had fairly lax security. Dinah had snuck in under cover and gotten out without a single problem.

I took off his blindfold when we got inside, then took off my utility belt.

"Okay. Let's get started." I faced him on the mat. "Punch me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere." Even from his stance, I could tell where he was going to throw it. He aimed at my stomach, which wasn't the best choice, because I could easily dodge it. Plus, my body armor absorbed most of the shock, even though it was a hard punch. "Again."

He kept throwing punches and I kept dodging them or absorbing the shock. Eventually I caught a punch and bent his wrist so that he fell to his knees immediately with a groan.

"Okay, first thing—how to throw a punch against someone who knows what she's doing." I pulled him back to his feet.

"If I'd known I was going to get taken down so easily by a beautiful girl, I would have studied up a little more before showing up."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, trying to ignore the 'beautiful' part of the sentence because he couldn't even see my entire face. "The girl part."

And I was starting to like him. Well, as much as I could like someone I was investigating.

"I didn't mean it that way," He stammered, his face going red. "I'm sorry. It was half-flirt, half-joke and just fell apart. "

His apology was so ready on his tongue and sincere that I calmed down a little. At least he was the type to admit he was wrong.

"It's fine. Let's get to work."

I showed him how to throw a proper punch to various body parts and he caught on immediately. Soon enough, he was landing a few punches when I let my guard way down. Way, way down.

"I'm a quick study," he said when we stopped for a water break.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," I said, almost smiling before I remembered my mission. Being smiley wasn't exactly Bat-like. "I'm surprised you've made it this far with that form."

"I'm lucky." He shrugged. "Well, mostly."

He turned his water bottle in his hands and looked down, his brows furrowing slightly. He felt so open for someone I'd just met. I could tell something was bugging him, and it wasn't just his raw knuckles. I almost touched his arm in a friendly way and told him it was going to be okay, but stopped myself. Instead of asking him about it (I would probably find out about it on my tapes anyway), I stood.

"Ready to get back to it?" I adjusted my gloves.

"Yep."

I watched his form as we practiced more moves to see if he was faking his inexperience, but I could see he wasn't. The way he was focusing and slowly, but believably getting better as the night went on…there was no way he could fake it. Unless he was incredibly good, which wasn't out of the question.

Around three, his response times started to lag and he kept missing me. It was time to get the blood sample. He threw a punch at my face, which I dodged easily before sinking a punch into his nose that would make it bleed badly, but not break it. He stumbled back, obviously shocked.

"Sorry! I thought you were ready to dodge it," I said, turning to get a cloth from my utility belt. "Let me help."

I rushed back to him and pressed it to his nose. He seemed to lean into my touch, which made me realize how intimate the gesture was. I quickly wiped the blood away to break the contact and pulled out another cloth that he could keep.

"Can we call it quits for tonight?" He asked, his voice thick from his injury.

"Sure. And tomorrow?" I pushed the bloody cloth across the floor toward my utility belt.

He paused. "Are you going to beat the crap out of me again?"

"Yeah, unless you practice." I let myself smile. "So you better get working."

He smiled, but winced when it jostled his nose. "Deal."


	4. Chapter 4

"You're wearing that?" Dinah said the second she got a good look at me in the back of the town car, where we had just pulled up to her apartment building. She was wearing a blue dress and her favorite leather jacket with boots, her standard outfit.

"Well, hi, Dinah." I put my purse on the floor so she could sit down. "What's so wrong with this outfit?"

The temperature was just right, so I was wearing skinny jeans, a green top, and flats. The jeans were form-fitting, but not super tight, and the green top was a long sleeved button down. The color looked nice against my red hair, which was up in a neat ponytail. I was put together, but not trying too hard. Nerd-cute, I guess. Not sexy by any stretch of the imagination, since Dinah usually took over that role when we went out together.

"He's obviously into you, so why not go for it? Flash a little cleavage or something. Unbutton a shirt button. You finally grew boobs, really nice ones at that, so use them." She got in and shut the door.

"Because flirting with someone I'm investigating isn't a good idea. And he just asked me to the circus—that's hardly a love confession." I looked down at myself and considered unbuttoning another button. I automatically kept my appearance as modest as possible around Bruce (and Alfred, though mostly Bruce) because I could tell they were mildly uncomfortable with me being more womanly all of a sudden, breaking up the boys club the cave was before for good. They'd had two years to adjust to the fact that I wore and actually needed a real bra that wasn't a double A-cup and could no longer easily go undercover as a pre-pubescent boy, but they still weren't fully used to it.

I undid the next button down.

Dinah laughed. "Fine, fine. Should be fun, even if it is part investigation. And if you aren't going for him, I will."

"On the outs with Oliver again?" I stretched my legs out too as the car lurched forward.

She sighed and leaned her head against the window. "Suddenly, it's an open relationship. Which he told me when I noticed some other girl call him right after we hooked up."

"Yikes."

"Yeah."

"So you're taking a break?" I glanced at myself in a small mirror I dug from my purse.

"Yeah. I need to take a break from guys in general." She looked out the window. "So I can live vicariously through you once you go out with Dick."

"Dinah." I put my hand on the door handle, wanting to jump from the car and run to the circus just so she wouldn't convince me to actually do it. I would get there faster too—we were stuck in traffic and barely crawling down the street.

"What? Even if you aren't fully into him, you could at least make out with him. That would be worth it, according to the rumors on one of his fan-sites—apparently he's a good kisser and an even better lay."

"You're just pushing me right into this, aren't you?" I said, laughing. "First you tell me to flash my boobs, now you're telling me to lose my virginity to him."

"In the best case scenario, yes. Plus if I'm going to be re-living my first time, it should be with someone who's good and not some random guy who claims to be fifth in line for the throne of some island nation. All that royal inbreeding back in the day must have made him have a genetically tiny penis."

I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing any harder, but totally failed. The guy she was talking about was a guest at a Wayne Foundation event that I'd invited her along to three years ago, and he latched onto Dinah the moment he saw her. He was tall, blonde, and handsome, her perfect counterpart…until she decided that she wanted to have sex and he was her lucky first choice. He was a great until the actual penetration, which hardly felt like anything, then he didn't last long and cried himself to sleep next to her. When she first told me this in full detail, she was crying, mostly out of annoyance, but now we laughed about it.

Soon, the car parked next to the performer's entrance of the Gotham Entertainment Center and the driver opened the door for us, a handler taking over the moment we were outside. I could see several trailers, where some of the performers slept, I guessed, down the alley.

"Hello, Ms. Wayne, Ms. Lance," the handler said, smiling widely and holding the door to the building open for us. "So glad you could make it. Dick is waiting for you inside. Excuse the mess—we're setting up a few things for the other acts."

The performer's entrance was a long, dimly lit hallway that led into the backstage area, which was the opposite of long and dimly lit. Everything was smushed together because of all the people going in and out of doors, squeezing through costumes and scenery pieces that took up space in the hallway. It got a bit better once we got to the acrobat area, which didn't have as much stuff hanging around. The handler knocked on Dick's door, which he answered pretty much immediately. He was wearing a white tank again, and blue shorts. I wasn't even sure where to look — his arms were so perfectly muscled and his everything else was just as nice to look at. But I settled on his face because that was both good and socially acceptable.

"Hey!" His smile lit up his whole face. "Glad you guys could make it. Are you Dinah?"

"Yeah, nice to meet you." They shook hands.

"I'm a little pressed for time, unfortunately. Our rehearsal ran a little long, so you'll just have to be totally surprised." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Maybe I can take you to your seats for now, then we could grab food after?"

"Sounds great," Dinah said before I could mention that I might not be able to go for long. She pinched my side when I opened my mouth.

"Good. I was a little worried. Dragging you both out here and not being able to hang out." He started walking toward the performance area. "I got you great seats though. Perfect for seeing our new trick."

They were great seats, even better than the ones that Bruce and I had. They were actually a little bit farther away from the stage, but we could see the entire stage from above without a problem. Dick had to leave to finish getting ready, so Dinah and I talked a bit more until the lights flickered to signal the show starting soon.

"Please silence all cell phones," a voice said over the loudspeakers. Dinah and I dug through our bags to turn our phones off. I had my regular Barbara phone and my Bat phone. Barbara phone didn't have messages, but Bat phone had one from Bruce. I decoded the message—

_Stay on task, Robin. Don't forget why you're there_.

My mood flipped from good to angry in moments. Nice to know Bruce trusted me to do things on my own. I wasn't sure why I was surprised that he would send me something like this, especially when it involved Dinah or anyone else my age.

The show started, but I couldn't focus. I kept going back in my mental history, trying to think of moments when I'd slipped up. I had perfect recall and I couldn't think of a single freaking one.

"I wonder how long he'll be in there," Dinah asked, checking the time on her phone. I needed to get her a watch for her birthday so she wouldn't be so dependent on it. We had been out of the show for about five minutes, max.

"Why? Are you hungry?"

"Nope, just waiting for something…" She looked down the hall. "Oh, here he comes."

He had changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and I was really happy to see that he was the kind of guy who could be hot in regular clothes, his hair mussed up. And that smile. God, this was not good.

"Ready? I was thinking about this 24-hour diner near here." He ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at the floor, then up at me. "Probably not as fancy as you're used to. Well, definitely not as fancy."

"Sounds good to me," I said.

Suddenly Dinah's phone beeped. "Oh, excuse me."

She stepped away a little and answered. I couldn't tell who she was talking to by her tone, but I definitely heard her say, "I'll be right there, okay? Okay, bye."

Uh-oh.

"Hey, I'm really sorry, but I can't make it. My mother needs help at the flower shop—huge order for a wealthy client at the last minute." She sighed. "I already bailed on her earlier this week and I promised I'd make it up to her."

"Wow, that sucks. Who orders flowers on a Saturday night?" He looked legitimately disappointed, but I knew Dinah too well to be. It was a set-up.

"I know, right? I guess I'll have to tag along some other time?" She hugged me goodbye. Before she tried to pull away, I clutched her tight.

"I swear, Dinah…," I whispered.

"You'll thank me later." She let go. "Nice meeting you, Dick."

"Nice meeting you too, Dinah." Dick waved as Dinah practically sprinted off past him, throwing me one more glance and a thumbs up over her shoulder.

"So, just us, then?" He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked at me expectantly. "If that's fine."

He looked so hopeful that it made my heart lurch a little bit. His expressiveness that worked so well on stage was working over me over.

Before I could stop myself, I said, "Yeah, let's go."

And that smile again. The next time Dinah and I trained together, I was going to kick her ass.

"Hope you don't mind that we take my motorcycle. A lot faster than the train," he said when we got to the parking lot. He handed me a helmet from the back bin.

"It's fine. I have one myself." He didn't have to know it also was armed with enough stun guns and non-lethal weapons to knock every one of the elephants in his circus unconscious.

"Really? I don't see you as the motorcycle type." He sat on the bike. "More of a sports car type."

I slid my helmet on to hide my grin before I climbed on behind him. "Well, you're right about that too. How'd you guess?"

"The way you walk." He started up the bike and headed toward the diner before I could ask him what that meant. But the way he said it sent a nice chill down my spine that was only worsened when I pressed against him. I stole a sniff of the back of his shirt, which smelled like clean laundry and what I assumed was that mysterious boy scent Dinah talked about a lot. And he was warm, which was nice when we started zipping through the streets to the diner.

The diner was kind of a dive on the outside, but the inside smelled like Alfred's famous (to us) bacon, which calmed the nervous knot in my chest that I hadn't realized was there. The hostess sat us in a green vinyl booth in the corner, a little away from everyone else. I stretched out my leg and accidentally brushed his, and he did the same a few seconds after, quietly apologizing. I focused on the menu instead of the warmth radiating from his legs that I was probably imagining. The menu was fifteen pages long, with everything from breakfast to dessert, but Dick wasn't even thumbing through it.

"So…" I glanced up at him. "What do you usually get?"

"Whatever Brenda brings me." He looked past my shoulder and smiled. "Hey, Brenda."

"Hey, hun." Brenda, the waitress, said, smiling widely at Dick. With her white hair and warmth, she reminded me of a grandmother from a cookie commercial. "Brought a date this time?"

Instead of blushing, he just grinned even broader. "Just a friend. This is Barbara. Barbara, this is Brenda."

"Well, nice to meet you. Coffee for you two? Juice? Or are you ready for food?" She scribbled a circle on her notepad to get the ink running again.

"I'll probably need another minute," I said, skimming the menu. "But coffee, I guess?"

"Same," Dick said.

Brenda smiled, almost flirtatiously. "I'll put on the good stuff for you."

"You come here a lot, I take it?" I asked him once Brenda was out of earshot.

"Yeah, most nights after a show. I work up an appetite."

"Any suggestions, then?"

"Yeah, definitely." He leaned forward, putting his finger on my menu to point at something. "The potato pancakes are good. And the sausage. And the pancakes. Just all the breakfast stuff. And the lunch and dinner stuff."

"So everything, basically?" I felt an involuntary smile spread across my face.

"Pretty much."

"I'll get the pancakes, then." Terrible food before a patrol, but I hadn't had anything since lunch. "With the bacon."

Soon Brenda came back with the coffee and took my order, leaving Dick and me alone again. I could hear his leg jiggling under the table, and he was absently scratching at a hangnail. This suddenly felt like a date—the secluded booth, his nervous leg twitch, the sweat that had suddenly bloomed under my armpits when I looked at him (thank god for my cardigan). The thought made my mouth go dry before I remembered all the techniques I knew to keep calm under pressure.

"So what did you mean before when you said I was more of a sports car type?" I asked.

Finally, his cheeks went a little pink. "From the way you walk. I don't know. You seem very…self-assured. Not a lot of girls our age walk like that."

He said it like it was a good thing. It was the first time I'd heard it put that way. "You've been watching me walk?" I asked, immediately focusing on dumping sugar into my coffee after.

"Just a little bit." He grinned. "It's a very circus walk too. I was a little surprised."

"Circus walk?"

He poured cream into his coffee, forgoing the sugar. "You have to be pretty confident, or at least appear to be, to be in the circus, especially in acrobatics. You can't hesitate with your movements or you might get hurt."

"Hm." I stirred my coffee just to have something to do with my hands. "So I'd fit right in with the circus?"

"Yeah, if you like traveling and being overly close to a bunch of strangers who've become your family." His words had a fondness to them that made my heart lurch.

"You've been there your whole life, then?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

"Yep. I can't remember living in any one place for more than a year at a time, really." He shrugged. "I'm not sure if I like it because I'm used to it, or if I like it because it really works for me."

"Maybe you're just built for it. I know I'm not naturally the high society parties type."

"Mm." He nodded. "You have to go to a lot of those?"

"Yeah, it kind of sucks. A lot of butt kissing, that kind of thing." I crossed my legs just as Dick stretched his out a little bit, making our knees touch. This time he didn't move them or apologize.

"Sounds like fun." He smirked, but there wasn't any malice in it.

I snorted. "Buckets of fun."

"So, what's your average day like?"

"Seriously?" Even I got bored thinking about my average, non-Bat days. "You honestly want to know?"

He shrugged. "I'm curious about you. It's not often that I get to talk to non-circus girls for more than a few moments, especially ones who are…y'know."

"Billionaire heiresses?"

"I guess. I was going to say cool with a genius level intellect, according to your Wikipedia page." He hid a bashful grin behind his coffee mug. "Which I had to check out, sorry."

I couldn't help but smile too seeing his smile and that dimple in his left cheek that I was becoming really fond of. "Do you always Google a girl before you hang out with her?"

"Not always, but you're a special case." He moved his knees to touch mine again.

I didn't move mine away, even though I felt like he could feel my fluttering pulse through the place where our knees met. Thinking about how he made me react only made me blush and sweat even more, which started a feedback loop of self-conscious twitches. I could stare down the barrel of a mob boss's gun, but this guy was tearing me to pieces with a smile.

Then the arrival of our food reminded me of Alfred, who reminded me of Bruce, who reminded me of the mission I was supposed to be on. The DNA had shown that Dick was Batboy, and we still didn't know his motive. What if he knew who I was outside of my Barbara Wayne persona? He could be flirting to break down my barriers, which he was succeeding at. I busied myself with eating so I could pull it back together. A side effect of living with Bruce was becoming just as paranoid as he was. I pushed the anxiety aside, looking back at Dick.

Just once, I wasn't going to let Bruce dictate my life from afar. Besides, I could get information out of him if I played the game right. Even though the thought of Dick flirting with me to bring me down gave me a nervous lump in my chest.

"So, your typical day," Dick finally said after we'd both gotten through half of our plates without a word.

"Right." I wiped my mouth with a napkin. The bacon was almost as good as Alfred's, and twice as greasy. "It's really not that interesting. I usually get up, go for a jog, read, sit in on board meetings for the Wayne Foundation, hang out with Dinah, stuff like that."

Even though the answer was half-assed, he nodded. "See, that's not that boring. I figured you would just be sitting around at parties all day, kissing butts."

I laughed. "Even in the morning?"

He grinned. "All day, all night. Just a line of wealthy old butts for you to kiss. Kiss a butt cheek and they throw money at whatever project you're doing. "

"You've figured me out. Are you going to put that on my Wikipedia page?"

"It'll be our secret," he said.

"You promise?"

"Boy Scout's honor." He put two fingers up, then paused. "I don't know what the salute is, but close enough."

"I think that's right." I felt my phone buzz in my purse next to my leg, but ignored it. "Since you know about my secret days, you have to tell me about yours."

"That's fair." He polished off his sausage. "I usually get up kind of late, workout, see what everyone else is doing. Then I decide what to do from there. There's never a typical day."

"So one day you could be doing your crazy tricks, then another you could be riding an elephant around?" I stirred what little was left of my coffee, wondering if I should push him for more information. I'd kept mine, but from the way he talked, I felt like he would give up a bit more.

"Pretty much."

"That sounds pretty awesome."

"Yeah, I'm lucky," he said. "It can get a little dull, though. It's nice to move and meet new people."

"Date new people?" I blurted, my curiosity getting the best of me. My phone buzzed again, meaning it could only be Bruce. I pushed him to the back of my mind. If something were truly urgent and crime-related, my phone would chime with a different ringtone and not my regular-Barbara Wayne phone. He never did this.

"I guess." Thankfully he just smiled. "Is this a date?"

"What?"

He suddenly looked lost. "Oh, sorry…I just thought that since you mentioned dating…"

"No! I mean, yes. I guess it wasn't, but now it is one since Dinah left us…" My paleness, yet again, didn't do me any favors. My face was probably as red as my hair. "If you want it to be."

"Only if you want it to be." His smile finally turned a little shy.

The warmth in my chest that I hadn't really felt in a long time, the way I felt when I sipped a warm drink on a cool day. "I think I'd like it to be."

"Same here." Tension in his shoulders that I hadn't even noticed melted away. My phone buzzed yet again. "Do you want to get that?"

"I guess I should." I dug the phone out. Bruce, just as I suspected. "Excuse me."

"Hello?" I answered once I was at a good distance.

"You aren't with Dinah," Bruce said.

"No?" I frowned a bit. "I'm at dinner with Dick Grayson. We were going to go out with Dinah, but she had to leave."

"You're at dinner with him?" I could hear the cold judgement in his voice. He didn't even have to say anything more—he'd already leapt to his own conclusions.

"I am." I felt anger bubbling up in me. I had it under control, even if this had turned into a date. It wasn't like I was flipping through photos of me dressed as Robin or anything.

"I assume that you're doing what's best for the…business." He still sounded tense. "I'm sending a car to pick you up in fifteen minutes to get you home."

"I—"

But he had already hung up. He could press just the right buttons with me and it was getting more and more irritating as the years went by. I knew he was a smart man and I believed in his mission, but god, sometimes he pushed it too far. And with an action, came an equal and opposite reaction.

I tucked my phone back into my pocket and went back to the table, hoping I looked more put together than I felt. Dick was counting change and put it into his wallet.

"I took care of the bill, if that's okay." He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. "It's getting kind of late."

"You didn't have to do that," I said, playing with the band of my watch so I wouldn't have to look at him in the eye.

"I always pay for my dates." He stood and put his napkin on the table. "Ready to head out?"

"Yeah, there's a car coming to pick me up at the theater." I bit back a sigh.

"I'll get you back, then." He guided me back to his bike with a hand on my back.

We rode in silence, and by the time we got back, the limo was waiting for me. I hopped off the bike and handed him the extra helmet.

"Can I text you?" He asked, pulling out his phone. "Maybe we could plan a date instead of falling into one by chance."

"I'd like that." I pulled out my phone and gave him my number. He texted me back so I'd have his. "See you around, then."

"See ya." He leaned in and gently kissed me on the lips. It was a polite kiss, but my lips tingled even after he pulled away.

I backed toward the limo, smiling. He waved as we pulled away. I relaxed into the limo seat, tossing my purse to the opposite side. Alfred rolled down the barrier between the front and the back, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

"Did you have a good time, Miss Barbara?" He had a knowing look in his eye.

"I did, Alfred." I looked at Dick's contact info in my phone. "It was really fun."


End file.
